the fact that I hadn’t had an orgasm with someone else in the room for far too long, but I leaned up to nip his full bottom lip. “You said something about a g-spot?”
His eyes turned a predatory blue, and he showed his teeth in a slow grin. “Let’s see what we can do.”
His lips dropped to mine. Now, I thought he had kissed me before. I was wrong. Those were mere hints, mere tantalizing peeks at what he could really do.
He wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t soft. He was all heat, depth, and fire. I think I heard Gaelic angels singing in the background, but that could’ve been the blood rushing through my veins. His free hand reached up to tangle in my curls, pulling my head to the side, angling my face. He was hard and dominant, and I was surprised by how much I liked it. How much it ignited the already glowing fire within me. I’d have to figure that one out later. Right now, my hands were full.
The hand on my rear moved to slide teasingly across my front; the small silk thong no match for the heat of his hand. His mouth, now on my neck, stilled. “I forgot about the Brazilian.”
I figured he would be familiar with the concept. “I don’t see the big deal.”
He nipped the soft area between my neck and shoulder before his tongue soothed the sizzling skin. “You will.”
He ripped my shirt over my head, and I gasped. His mouth traced a hot, insistent trail from my neck to my breasts. His warm mouth engulfed one nipple as he pulled my aching bud into his mouth, and I pushed up against him, my hands clutching the solid muscles of his shoulders. He chuckled against my skin. I moaned.
He moved further south, kissing and nipping along the way. My thong was quickly ripped in two. In the back of my head, I knew I shouldn’t like that. The good Catholic-girl in there balked, but I forgot all about her when his mouth found me, and my body started singing ‘hallelujah’.
Though I did pray loudly to God at least three more times during the morning.
After playing with Aiden, I was very late for work. I wore a white shirt, black skirt with matching jacket, and muted pumps in preparation for Scot Peterson’s funeral set for that afternoon, even though it was a Friday. My mattress hockey with Aiden had taken longer than any girl had a right to expect, and I had to admit, I was a bit, well, tender. It had been a long time, and Aiden was nothing if not thorough. Very thorough. I can truthfully say that not only did I have a g-spot, but it had never been truly discovered before. I wondered if he had some sort of squatter’s right to it now. I frowned at the thought.
Carefully balancing two lattes while walking down the steps, I found Nick in his war room already taping pictures of the guys who’d chased me up into a tree to the big board. Would he be able to tell I’d had sex with a suspect the night before? I should probably admit it, but I just couldn’t. Then I looked at the big board.
Just seeing their faces made me trip, and the heated liquid splashed over my hand. I winced.
Nick rescued the coffees and set them down. His dark hair was almost long enough to curl around his ears, but not quite. “Meet Bert McLeroy—” he pointed to the guy with the acne scars “—and Chris Mayers.” He tapped the balding blond guy. “Low life thugs with known connections to the Third Street Boys gang out of Portland.”
I wiped the coffee off with my other hand. “How did you identify them?”
“Morons left their prints at Melvin Whitaker’s. We have BOLO’s out on both of them and should have them in custody soon.” Nick said, stepping back to study the board. Then he looked over his shoulder at me. “Holy shit.” Turning, his chin dropped. “Pierce didn’t tell me it was that bad.”
I gingerly poked at the scrape along my cheekbone, which had somehow extended up in a nice purple arc around my eye. So much for the concealer I’d plied on so generously. “Well, I did fall out of a tree,” I said, trying not to sound too defensive. Then I’d had spectacular sex with a bad boy.
Nick leaned back against the table and reached for his coffee, his gaze